


So Softly You Speak

by sweetheart35



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU, Angst, Avery lives, Canon-Typical Violence, Characters Added As They Appear - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Homophobic Language, I am making up pretty much any backstory and lore as I go along, It's Henry, Jeremiah Criss is a decent father because somebody in that stupid town needs to be, Wingfic, because it's really hard to come back from child murder, book-movie fusion, implied racism, rating is mostly for Henry's pottymouth and everyone else's to a lesser degree, reference animal death, set before movie timeline, sorry for the lousy summary, surprisingly it's not Patrick who is the most problematic in this story, the Bowers Boys really are friends, the wingfic au nobody asked for but got anyway, which is not a surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-06 03:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetheart35/pseuds/sweetheart35
Summary: Vic hissed as he stretched Saturday morning. The itching on his back had gotten progressively worse over the week, taking longer and longer to fade throughout the day until it was constant, just underneath his skin.Formerly part of a series called So Softly You Speak. I decided to turn it into a multi-chapter story instead. Sorry for any confusion!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the poem We Live More Than Once by Ms. Moem.

June 1988

 

Vic woke up the Monday of the last week of school to a tight itching sensation across his back. Grumbling slightly, he rolled out of bed, cursed when his foot collided his desk chair and staggered to the bathroom across the hall. He could hear his dad downstairs in the kitchen, whistling something ridiculously upbeat and scowled harder on principle. His back, when he twisted around to examine it, showed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Vic shrugged, reached back to give his shoulder blades a quick scratch and wandered downstairs to get some coffee.

\--

By the time they’d dropped Avery off at the elementary school the itch had faded and Vic was distracted by Henry ranting loudly about some kid in one of the younger grades giving him lip and how he was going to set them straight later and Belch’s, quite frankly, terrifying driving. The bigger boy had just gotten his license and his first car and the four of them were still riding high on the novelty of being able to go where ever they wanted, when they wanted. Belch was also riding high the ability to actually drive.

“Belch,” Vic said nervously, gripping the seat in front of him. “Belch, that’s a stop sign, you’re supposed to slow down -”

“Jesus Christ, Vic, who has the license here?” Belch demanded, cutting Henry off, and actually going faster.

“ _ Belch, there’s a car -”  _ Belch hit the accelerator and the horn at the same time and Vic and Patrick were both thrown back in their seats. Henry let out a loud whoop and Patrick let out a gleeful cackle.

“Don’t be a pussy, Vic!” Henry twisted in his seat to flip off the car behind them. Vic rolled his eyes and straightened up in his seat.

“Yeah, Vicky.” Patrick reached over and hooked his arm around Vic’s neck, pulling him close and knuckling his hair. Vic pushed against him half-heartedly before giving up. Patrick didn’t usually initiate physical contact, preferring to distance himself even from play back slaps and mock fighting, and no one was stupid enough to trying touching him first. The only person who got away with freely touching Patrick was Avery. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Fuck off,” Vic said, reaching over to jab Patrick in the stomach. Patrick shoved him back against the side of the car in retaliation as Belch pulled into the parking lot. “I don’t think not wanting to die counts as being a pussy.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Belch snickered as they hopped out of the car and made their way to the building. “You keep telling yourself that. I’ll see you goons at lunch.”

\--

Vic hissed as he stretched Saturday morning. The itching on his back had gotten progressively worse over the week, taking longer and longer to fade throughout the day until it was constant, just underneath his skin, but this was the first day his back had actually hurt. And it didn’t really hurt...it just felt more sensitive and tender than anything, but when he looked in the mirror and poked at his back, he couldn’t find anything that would cause the issue.

Vic debated talking to his dad about it. Mr. Criss had briefly attended medical school when he was younger and probably knew something about it but -

There wasn’t anything  _ there _ that Vic could see and he wasn’t going to bug his dad over something may not even be an issue. He’d taken a solid hit from a dodgeball in gym class yesterday. It was probably just residual soreness. No where near as bad as the kid that had gotten him, though. That loser had been nailed from four different dodgeballs at once in retaliation and had had to leave with a broken nose. Vic and the others had been given detention for excessive force but seeing as it was the last day of school, none of them had even pretended they would go.

Rolling his shoulders to relieve the tightness, he wandered downstairs. Jeremiah Criss was peering at the newspaper over his glasses, sipping from a mug emblazoned with the University of Maine logo. It was the first Christmas gift Vic’s mom had ever gotten him and was Mr. Criss’s favorite mug.

“Morning, Dad,” Vic muttered as he slumped to the pantry.

“Vic,” his dad greeted and something in his dad’s tone made him pause. “I got a call from the school yesterday.” Vic winced. He’d banked on the school not calling his dad for a skipped detention since it was the last day but apparently that hadn’t been the case. And if they called Mr. Criss then they definitely called Mr. Bowers. Vic hoped Henry had gotten out of the house early that morning.

“You get detention yesterday, Vic?” Vic turned to face his dad, who was still holding the paper and was now watching him instead.

“I - yeah, I - I did,” Vic muttered.

“They told me you broke a kid’s nose, Victor.” His father’s tone was disapproving.

“It was dodgeball, Dad,” Vic argued. “And it’s not like we did it on purpose!” Well, he hadn’t. He couldn’t really speak for the other three. He and Henry had been best friends since they were in kindergarten and Henry had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to his friends. Patrick just seemed to like an excuse to make people bleed and Belch had a known temper, for all that he was surprisingly sensitive at times.

Mr. Criss’s gaze was sharp, like he knew what what Vic was thinking but chose not to say anything. Thankfully he accepted the excuse of gym class. It wasn’t the first time a kid’s nose had gotten smashed and it wouldn’t be the last.

“That doesn’t excuse you not going to detention, Vic.” Vic felt the weight of his father’s disapproval settle around him. “You can’t dodge consequences for your actions. And before you say it was just an accident in gym class, the teacher obviously felt there was enough of an issue to assign you detention in the first place.”

“Sorry, Dad,” he muttered. His dad sighed.

“You’ll be grounded until Tuesday,” he told him. “Starting after Avery’s birthday party.” Vic’s lips twitched slightly. Avery may only be turning seven, but Vic liked the little brat and someone needed to distract Patrick from being to weird around the other little kids.

“Alright,” Vic agreed. Three days of grounding wasn’t so bad and he’d get to see the others one last time before it started.

“I don’t want to get anymore calls about you skipping detention again, Vic,” his dad said, standing and taking his mug to the sink, before gathering his work belt.

“You won’t,” Vic promised, following him to the front door. “Have a good day at work.”

“I will. Tell Henry if he needs a place to stay for a few days, he’s always welcome.”

“Sure thing.” Vic wasn’t all that surprised. Mr. Criss had made it clear to the other boys they were always welcome at the Criss household if they needed a place to stay for a bit. Henry took him up on it the most, followed by Belch. Patrick came over the least, probably because Vic’s dad didn’t let him get away with everything but sometimes even Patrick would need to get away from home for a night or two. Odds are, Henry would come home with Vic and would be grounded with him and by the time Henry went home Mr. Bowers would have gotten over the worst of his anger.

Maybe. It was a toss-up with Mr. Bowers.

Vic watched his father’s truck back out of the driveway before heading back to the kitchen to get the cereal he’d been going for before his father had brought up the missed detention.

\--

“Vic! Belch! You’re here!” Vic and Belch grinned as Avery zoomed up to them as they entered the Hockstetter’s backyard, Belch hefting the boy up over his head while Avery squealed in delight. “This is so cool! Patty said you’d be here and you’re here and I have  _ high schoolers _ at my party. Wait till the other kids see, they’re gonna be so jealous! Ryan Larson said I was making it up and my party was gonna be a stupid baby party, but it’s won’t be now that you guys are here and -”

“Avery, remember your manners and stop chattering at them,” Mrs. Hockstetter scolded from where she was setting up some sort of party game on the porch. Belch tossed Avery over his shoulder, bouncing him slightly. 

“ - and thank you for coming,” Avery continued without missing a beat, his voice slightly muffled from where his face was buried in Belch’s back.

“Hi, Mrs. Hockstetter,” Belch greeted. He bumped Avery a few more times to his delighted giggles before setting him back down.

“Hello, Belch, Vic,” Mrs. Hockstetter greeted warmly, going over and giving them both a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you both so much for coming.”

“No problem. Where’s Patrick at?” Vic asked.

“He, Henry and David ran to the store for me,” she told them. Belch and Vic both relaxed. If Henry was here, either his dad hadn’t gotten ahold of him yet or it wasn’t as bad as they feared. “Would you boys be so kind as to get the extra folding tables from the garage, please?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Hockstetter,” Belch said. “Where should we put these?” He pointed to the gifts Vic was holding.

“Oh, the picnic table there is fine,” Mrs. Hockstetter told them.

“I’ll help with the tables!” Avery piped up. “Can I, Mom? I can help!”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sure Belch and Vic don’t -” Mrs. Hockstetter began before Belch interrupted.

“We sure could use all the help we could get,” Belch told Avery, winking at Mrs. Hockstetter, who smiled and turned back to the set up. “Vic here has bird bones.”

“Fu - forget you, Belch,” Vic said amiably. “Don’t listen to him, Avery. He’s gonna need all the help he can get with one of the tables.” The three of them began heading towards the garage.

“No offense, Vic, but I think Belch can probably carry a table by himself,” Avery said dubiously. “I’m not sure you can, though.” Belch burst into laughter while Vic gaped at the little boy. Avery, blissfully unaware of why Belch was laughing, brightened up immediately. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll help you!”

“I hate you,” Vic muttered to Belch, pinching his arm and stomping over to the tables. Belch, still chortling, grabbed one of the tables and headed out of the garage. Vic, contrary to the apparently popular opinion, could in fact carry a table by himself but pretended to struggle until Avery, beaming, grabbed one end, delighted he could help.

As he was setting the table down, though, his back tightened painfully. He hissed, rolling his shoulders, trying to work out some tension.

“Yo, Vic, you okay?” Belch asked. Vic nodded, conscious of Avery watching. Mrs. Hockstetter had gone back inside to find some table clothes for them to use.

“Yeah,” he answered. “That dodgeball just hit me harder than I thought, that’s all.”

“That fucker did have a mean throw,” Belch said, a hint of admiration in his voice. Avery let out a giggle at the use of the forbidden word and Belch looked slightly guilty for all of two seconds.

“Not as mean as yours,” Vic countered. “You actually broke his nose, you ass.” Avery’s eyes were getting wider as he listened and Vic grinned, ruffling his hair. “Don’t tell your mom where you learned those, Aves.”

“You bet!” Avery breathed before shaking his head rapidly. “I mean, I won’t! Not at all!”

“Right on.” Belch held his hand out for a high-five that Avery eagerly met. “If you go help your mom out, I’ll let you open your present early.”

“Okay!” Avery took off for the house while Vic and Belch watched.

“Pretty incredible how normal he is compared to Patrick,” Vic commented idly. Belch grunted in agreement, taking a seat at the picnic table. “What’d you get Avery?”

“Star Wars lunch box,” Belch answered. “Apparently the kid’s obsessed. You?”

“Mix tape,” Vic replied. “It was a bitch trying to find stuff his mom wouldn’t immediately confiscate it for. I stuck with stuff my dad likes mostly.” He reached up absently to rub his shoulder. Belch frowned.

“You sure you’re alright? You’ve been doing that since I picked you up.”

“Have I?” Vic honestly hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, dude. You talk to your dad about it?”

“Nah.” Vic shook his head. “There’s nothing to see anyway. If it gets worse I’ll talk to him,” he added, seeing Belch’s frown.

“Whatever, bitch. If your back is fucked up and you die, it’s your funeral.”

“I expect to see you there, asshat.”

“I’ll show up long enough to spit on your grave.”

“You spit on my grave and I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

\--

Henry had eyes like a hawk. Middle schoolers, classmates and a couple of the upperclassmen were well of this and did their best to steer clear of Henry Bowers because once he managed to parse out a weakness he could make your life a living hell. And Henry, possibly learning from his father, was  _ very _ good at parsing out someone’s weakness.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He demanded Monday afternoon after Vic winced for what must have been the hundredth time that day. He and Vic were sprawled on the couch watch television and planning out what they were going to do once their punishment was up. While Mr. Criss technically couldn’t ground Henry, he could enforce the rule that if you stayed in his house you followed his rules. And one of the rules just happened to be if you skipped detention you were grounded.

So Henry was grounded.

Vic privately thought Henry  _ liked _ being grounded, at least by Mr. Criss. Unlike with Mr. Bowers, Vic’s dad outlined the terms of the punishment ahead of time. If those terms needed to be adjusted they would be, but never arbitrarily and never without warning. Henry never had to guess what punishment was coming his way.

“My back hurts,” Vic grumbled, shifting onto his stomach and flinching once again. Henry frowned, leaning over him and brushing his fingers lightly over Vic’s shoulder blades. Vic hissed and shifted away.

“Belch said you said it was just from that stupid dodgeball game.” Henry’s voice was slightly accusing and Vic closed his eyes, burying his face in the couch.

“It is,” he replied, voice muffled. Henry pressed down suddenly and Vic yelped, trying to move away but Henry pressed down harder, keeping him in place.

“You got hit here,” Henry said musingly, finally,  _ finally _ letting up on the pressure. Vic turned to scowl at him but before he could say anything, Henry had moved to the other side of his back and pressed down again. Vic flailed, shouting. Henry grabbed his wrist, giving it a warning squeeze and holding the limb away from himself. “But you hurt there too, Vic.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Vic snapped, stilling under him. Henry stopped pressing down on his back and released his wrist, settling back into the couch. Vic pushed himself up and turned so he was seated facing Henry, glowering. “You’re an ass.”

Henry shrugged, unrepentant. “And you’re a wuss. You tell your dad yet?”

Because of course Henry couldn’t come out and say he was concerned. No. That would be ridiculous. Why was Vic even friends with him in the first place? Because Henry had beat up some bullies for Vic in kindergarten, that’s why.

“No,” Vic said shortly. “It’s not a big deal.” Henry gave him a hard stare and Vic felt the urge to squirm, but he hadn’t been Henry’s friend his entire life for nothing. Belch and Patrick were good friends, but Vic was the one that could talk Henry down from his moods and usually could talk him out his more extreme ideas, but not always. Henry hated Mike Hanlon with a passion and even Vic, in all his ten-year-old wisdom gained from years of friendship with Henry, hadn’t been able to talk Henry out of poisoning Mike’s dog.

_ “He told me I did good, Vic,” Henry had said later, his chin jutting out defiantly. “He - he said the Hanlons have done nothing but ruin us and hurt him just because they’re jealous.” _

_ “But, Henry,” Vic had started and stopped. Henry had spent his entire life trying to earn his father’s approval. Now he had it and if Mr. Bowers had been telling the truth, then compared to everything that had happened to the Bowers... _ it was just a dog _ , Vic reasoned to himself uncertainly. Just a dog and Mike Hanlon could always get a new one and maybe he’d teach it not to trust strangers. _

_ And Vic, at that age, didn’t have the words express why he was so unsettled by Henry’s actions because it felt like there was a deeper, more sinister meaning to them that Henry himself didn’t even understand. _

_ “He said he was proud of me,” Henry insisted, his tiny fists clenching and Vic was both genuinely afraid for and of Henry in that moment. _

_ “Okay, Henry,” he agreed because all he wanted was for his friend to be happy. _

“You’re a fucking liar, Vic,” Henry told him but he stopped pushing and turned back to the television where some documentary about sewers was showing. Henry watched it for a few minutes before snorting. “Gross. Who the fuck cares about the sewers?”

“Trashmouth Tozier, that’s who,” Vic said. “Don’t insult his home, Henry.” Henry let out a bark of laughter and Vic felt his shoulders relax for the first time all weekend.

\--

That Saturday evening in bed, Vic noticed the bumps. He wouldn’t have noticed them at all if he hadn’t laid down on his back and immediately couldn’t comfortable. He sat up, smacking the mattress a few times before laying back down only to met with the same problem. He was lying on something but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He groaned, wriggled and then froze when something shifted  _ under _ his skin.

Two somethings. On either side of his back.

What the -

Vic threw himself out of the bed, headed straight for the bathroom and began craning around in front of the mirror, trying to see his back. He couldn’t tell if there anything there at all, but when he reached behind him and prodded…

There were definitely two lumps on his shoulder blades.

“Dad!” Vic yelled. He stumbled from the bathroom, trying to control his breathing. No need to panic. He was fine. Lumps showed up on people all the time - “Dad!” - and they were usually - whatchamacallem - cysts and -

_ His mom found a lump - _

“Vic!” His dad darted up the stairs, gripping his son’s forearms and looking him over. “Victor, what’s wrong?”

Vic gulped in some air and felt his heart rate start to slow down.

“I - on my back - there’s -” He stumbled over the words, suddenly feeling like an idiot. What must his father think of him freaking out over nothing? He could’ve calmly gone downstairs, told his dad and he would’ve gone to the doctor on Monday or Tuesday. He took a deep breath. “There’s some lumps on my back. Sorry for -  _ hey!” _ Vic yelped as his father abruptly spun him around. “Dad!”

“Hold still, Victor.” Vic stilled immediately, tensing when his dad pressed against his back. But it was gentle, nothing like Henry had done earlier that week. After a moment, Vic was allowed to turn back around. His father’s expression was grave.

“So, uh, nothing to worry about, right?” Vic said nervously. “Just some knots -”

“Come downstairs, son.” Vic’s voiced died abruptly and he followed his dad downstairs into the kitchen. He took a seat at the table at his father’s silent gesture and watched while his dad made coffee and poured two mugs. To Vic’s surprise, he added whiskey to both of them before bringing them over to the table and setting one in front of Vic.

“I’m guessing they’re a bit more serious than some knots,” Vic said quietly, staring at the coffee. He picked at a chip on the edge of the table.

“A bit,” his father agreed.

“Is it -” Vic swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Is it cancer?” He darted a quick glance up as his father took a drink of his coffee. He couldn’t think of what else it might be, but his father wasn’t actually a doctor. He worked for city maintenance and happened to be smarter than most of the men there. He couldn’t actually tell just from feeling around Vic’s back.

“No.” He shook his head in the negative and hesitated, clearly trying to choose his next words carefully. “It’s more of a...family trait.”

“What kind of trait?” Vic asked. His father let out a deep sigh, took another swig of coffee and looked directly at Victor.

“You’re growing wings, Victor.”

\--

Tomorrow afternoon, when the others stopped by, Mr. Criss told them Vic had come down with the flu and wouldn’t be able to join them for a few days until he got over it. Upstairs, Victor refused to come out of his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**June 1988**

_ “No.” He shook his head in the negative and hesitated, clearly trying to choose his next words carefully. “It’s more of a...family trait.” _

_ “What kind of trait?” Vic asked. His father let out a deep sigh, took another swig of coffee and looked directly at Victor. _

_ “You’re growing wings, Victor.” _

_ “What?” Victor stared at his father, certain he’d misheard him. “Did you just say wings?” He had to be joking. But Jeremiah just looked at his son steadily until Vic had the grip the edge of the table, blood rushing in his ears. People didn’t just grow wings. The closest Vic had ever come to hearing about something like that was about angels when he and his family had gone to church when he was younger. And that was different. Those were angels. They weren’t humans and - _

_ “Vic, take a breath.” Jeremiah’s voice broke through the fog in his mind and Vic could feel the heavy weight of his father’s hand on the back of his neck, grounding him. He sucked in a breath, feeling some of the dizziness clearing away. _

_ “You’re crazy, Dad,” Vic said, proud of how steady his voice was. “I don’t know what these are, but I know people don’t just  _ grow wings _.” His dad looked as though he wished had something stronger than coffee splashed with whiskey. Vic didn’t touch his. He didn’t like whiskey on it’s own and he was certain he wouldn’t like it mixed with coffee. _

_ “Far as we can tell,” Jeremiah began, as though Vic had asked and didn’t think this whole thing was insane and grounds for having his father committed. “Our family has always been able to grow wings. It wasn’t until we settled in Derry that it started skipping generations.” He took a drink of coffee. “You won’t find this in the history books, but most of the families that settled here were winged families.” _

_ “Dad, stop,” Vic said, pushing away from the table. He didn’t want to hear this. His dad was talking crazy and Vic needed to see an actual doctor to figure out what was happening to him. He could head over to Belch’s, stay there the rest of the weekend and then convince him to take him to the doctor without telling the others. _

_ “Victor, sit down.” _

_ Victor, desperately not wanting to and wanting to just go, slowly lowered himself back down into his seat. _

\--

“Earth to Vicky!” Patrick’s hand waved in front of his face, startling from his thoughts. Vic scowled, shoving Patrick’s hand away from his face, twisting to face Patrick more fully.

“What?” He asked, trying to hide his annoyance. They were in the backseat of Belch’s car and Vic had been leaning against the side of the car, careful to keep weight off his back. The knobs were still small enough to be hidden under a baggy T-shirt but they ached and whenever he put weight on them the pain ratcheted up to a sharp throb. Vic didn’t even want to think about what would happen if one of the others slapped him on the back.

“What is with you?” Henry turned to face him from the front seat. “You still sick?”

“No,” Vic grumbled. “Just tired.”

“You’ve been sleeping for three days, Vic, how the fuck are you still tired?” Belch’s glance in the rearview mirror was concerned. Vic wasn’t really in the mood to appreciate it.

“I’ve been sick for three days, dumbass,” Vic snapped. “When you’re not sick anymore you’re still tired afterwards.”

“Whatever, princess.” Henry faced the front again.

“Where are we going?” Vic asked, hoping to deflect attention off him.

“Patrick brought up going to the Aladdin,” Henry said idly. “But Belch pointed out it was all shit movies this week anyway.”

“My cousin dragged me along,” Belch chimed in. “The arcade is also out. It’s hosting like three different birthday parties so it’s gonna be overrun with brats.”

“We have to pick Avery up at three-thirty from there,” Patrick told them. “And one of his friends. They’re having a sleepover at our place tonight.” Henry snorted.

“Which parents were stupid enough to let their kid stay over at your house? They know you live there, right?”

“The Denbroughs,” Patrick answered, not even pretending to be insulted. “And I don’t fuck around with Avery’s friends, Bowers, fuck off.”

“Can we pull over?” Vic asked abruptly. Belch and Henry exchanged glances but Belch did as he asked, pulling up the curb. Vic didn’t wait for the the others and pushed himself up and out of the car. If he was walking, he wasn’t keeping his back off the seat. If he wasn’t keeping his back off the seat no one would notice and no one (Henry) would say anything and Vic wouldn’t have to lie. No way in hell would they believe him. Vic still almost refused to believe it.

He wouldn’t have believed it at all, except for -

\--

_ “What did those come from?” Vic asked. He was staring at his father’s back, unable to tear his eyes away from the scars on his shoulder blades. They were oval patches of white, the edges smooth and blending seamlessly into healthy skin. He knew, he  _ knew  _ what Jeremiah was going to say but he needed to hear it. _

_ “My wings,” Jeremiah said quietly. “I had them amputated when I was twenty-six.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Couldn’t go to med school looking like some kind of freak show.” Vic reached out and press a trembling hand to one of the scars. “Couldn’t go to Main Street looking like a sideshow at a circus.” Vic felt something shift under his dad’s skin and quickly pulled his hand away, retreating back to his seat. Jeremiah turned to face him. _

_ “How come you had to hide if Derry started out as a safe place for...for people with wings?” He asked. Jeremiah shrugged. _

_ “We’re rare, Vic,” he said. “And the world is getting smaller, more connected. It just started to be safer to hide from everyone.” _

_ “I want them off,” Vic said instantly. “I don’t want them.” Jeremiah looked haggard. _

_ “I know, kiddo,” he said. “I kinda expected it. Your cousin didn’t want them either.” _

_ “Callie? She had them too?” Vic asked. Callie had moved to Arizona about three years ago. “How did I not know?” Jeremiah shrugged. _

_ “She had them amputated when she was nineteen and started college the year after once she’d recovered. You were a bit more interested in running around town than hanging out with your cousin. Jackie and I weren’t sure whether you’d grow them so we didn’t tell you.” _

_ “How come you waited so long to cut yours off?” _

_ “It’s not safe to amputate until you’re physically mature and women mature faster than men. I was able to do correspondence classes from home with the community college in Bangor which is how I was able to start med school.” Vic felt like he was going to be sick. “Callie had hers off a little earlier than was advisable but it obviously worked out for her.” _

_ “You’re telling me I have to hide and I can’t to back into town or hang out with my friends or be fucking normal.” Vic’s hands were shaking and he was sure he his was paler than his hair. _

_ “You still have time, Vic,” Jeremiah said and that was it. Vic pushed back from the table. Jeremiah looked at him warily but Vic didn’t say anything and went back up to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. His dad didn’t follow him. _

\---

He started walking, aware of the others falling in around him. None of them said anything but Vic could picture them exchanging glances behind his back. He had about five minutes before one of them said something about his behavior unless he could come up with a distraction but Vic wasn’t lying when he said he was tired. Apparently growing wings took a lot of energy and anything that would’ve held appeal for Vic, or he was indifferent enough to while the others enjoyed themselves, he couldn’t muster up the interest.

“Hey,” Belch said suddenly and everyone looked at him. “Isn’t that the Jew kid? The one a couple grades below us?” They followed his gaze and saw the boy outside the drugstore further down across the street. Vic could see his stupid little hat sitting on his head. He was slinging a bag over the handlebars of his bike and even though he mounted it, he didn’t leave yet. He was looking at the door expectantly, waiting for someone.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, a smile stretching slowly over his face and a gleam of excitement entering his eyes. “Little Stan Urine.” A moment later, the bell over the drugstore chimed and Richie Tozier came out a minute later. They couldn’t hear him, but Vic could see his mouth moving a mile a minute and he stood for a moment by his bike, talking to Stan. The two boys hadn’t spotted Vic or his friends yet and Vic suddenly found himself wishing they would look over and see them and run or go back inside the drug store long enough for Henry and Patrick to get bored.

“And there’s the Trashmouth,” Henry said lowly. Henry held a special dislike for Richie. Not many people seemed like the boy, but Richie shot his mouth off to Henry just a few too many times.

“Looks like it’s just the two of them,” Belch said lowly. “Just two bikes.” Richie threw his hands up and his voice finally carried down to them.

“Yeah, but that’s why you and Eds kiss so much. It’s ‘cause you’re both clean freaks.”

Vic could  _ hear _ Stan’s eyeroll.

Richie finally got on his bike and to Vic’s dismay, he and Stan began peddling towards them. Richie was deliberately trying to ride his bike into Stan’s and Stan was focused on trying to dodge him. It looked almost like Stan was trying to direct Richie into obstacles as he dodged.

“C’mon,” Henry said lowly. “When they’re nearly level with us, we’ll go across.” By the time they crossed, the two boys would be in the perfect spot to hustle them into the alley and out of sight. There were enough people in the street they wouldn’t have enough time to do much more than knock them around a little but if Richie shot his mouth off, Henry wouldn’t need much time.

“Henry, why don’t we leave them alone?”

Henry turned slowly to stare at Vic. Vic didn’t blame him. He hardly ever said no to Henry. The most he did was try and talk Henry out of an doing something that would seriously hurt someone; talk him into giving someone a broken nose as opposed to a broken arm.

“What?” Henry asked lowly and this would be where Vic usually would stay quiet or shake his head and mutter ‘nothing’, but he could see Richie and Stan getting closer and he opened his mouth quickly, trying to distract Henry long enough for them to  _ fucking notice _ or get by them safely. Patrick had angled his body so that he could keep an eye both on the younger boys across the street and Vic and Henry. He was dancing back and forth slightly.Belch was watching them both warily.

“Why don’t we just leave them alone for once,” Vic repeated. “They haven’t even done anything -” That usually didn’t matter much. “ - so can we -” He never got a chance to finish. Henry grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him into the alley. The abrupt movement finally captured Richie’s attention and over his shoulder, Vic saw Richie finally reach out, grabbed Stan’s shirt and the two boys only paused for a second before wheeling on their bikes and heading the opposite direction at a much faster pace. Patrick looked disappointed.

“What the fuck is your problem, Vic?” Henry demanded and really, Vic didn’t want to deal with Henry on top of everything else.

“My problem is you’re always going after people who don’t even do anything to you,” Vic snapped. Henry’s face twisted into a snarl and he shoved Vic up against the wall.

Vic’s back exploded with pain. Stars burst in his vision and he could see Henry’s mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear anything through the blood roaring in his ears.

“-enry, Henry, knock it off!” Belch sounded scared and Vic would swear later he loved him for that. He could see Belch holding a hand out towards Henry, like he wanted to pull him away from Vic but didn’t actually dare to touch him. Patrick was standing back a bit, hands tucked in his pockets. Vic expected something more than the indifference on his face. Patrick usually loved this shit.

“Why do you care about those little fags, anyway, Vic? Huh?” Henry shoved Vic harder against the wall. The pain seemed to double and Vic was almost glad his vision clouded over and he couldn’t see Henry. He grabbed at Henry’s wrists in an attempt to get a little leverage, but even without the pressure being put on his back and wings, Vic had always been the smallest of the group and while he could usually hold his own, pushing Henry off him right now wasn’t an option.

“You a little fag, too, Criss?” Henry’s breath was on his face. Vic pulled his lips back in his own snarl and lifted his head. “You gonna go get those queer boys to give you some head later?”

“And what if I am?” He gasped out, but he knew Henry heard him. The fists in his shirt loosened and Henry must’ve taken a step back because Vic was no longer being pushed up the wall. He blinked, trying to clear the spots out of his eyes. Henry was pale and he let go of Vic with one hand and Vic thought Henry looked scared.

_ Why shouldn’t he? You just told him you’re a fag, he’s probably scared of it catching - _

A moment later, Vic doubled over as Henry’s fist collided with his stomach. The air left him in a gasp and Vic didn’t have time to suck in a breath before Henry punched him again and Vic crumpled, the only thing keep him up was Henry’s other hand still gripping his shirt tightly. A moment later, a fist collided with Vic’s cheek and he finally fell to the ground. He curled into a ball, clutching his stomach with one arm, his other slung protectively over his face and he felt a flash of sympathy for every kid who’d been his exact position.

“Fucking freak,” he heard Henry spit. “Let’s go.”

Vic waited until he heard the footsteps fade away before uncurling himself and sitting up. He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, until the pain in his stomach fade enough for him to push himself to his feet. He prodded at his cheek gingerly, wincing as it throbbed in response and limped to the mouth of the alley. He glanced warily up and down the street. Belch’s car was nowhere to be seen and Vic hoped they weren’t looking for Stan and Richie.

As he walked home, Vic found himself jumping at every engine that sounded even remotely like Belch’s. A few times, he even ducked into alleys or stores until he was sure it was safe again to come out. It wasn’t a feeling Vic was used to. He’d never been scared to be out in the streets of Derry but Henry had never reacted like that before. He’d always been what Vic would hesitantly term gentle towards Vic and while they had wrestled before, Henry had always been careful with Vic. They all had, except for Patrick. Vic honestly wasn’t sure what Henry would do if he saw him again and he didn’t want to find out.

As he finally limped up to his front door, Vic knew that was the last time he’d go into town.

\---

His wings began finally pushing through about a week and a half later. Vic sat on the bathroom counter, back to the mirror and neck craned so he could see them. They were small and gray, and to Vic’s slight mortification, fluffy. When Jeremiah finally came upstairs to see if Vic had woken up yet, he found him in the bathroom. Jeremiah nudged him gently off the counter.

“C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s go work on the truck for a bit.” Vic changed into jeans, debated pulling on a shirt before deciding against it. It was hot enough he would have gone without a shirt anyway and shirts had started pull uncomfortably across his back.

It wasn’t until they had been working on the engine for a few hours that Vic spoke.

“Did Mom have wings?” He asked. Jeremiah didn’t answer for a moment. It was the first time either of them had spoken since they’d been out there.

“Yeah,” he said. “At the time, a bunch of the winged families had their own community, I guess you’d call it, in Derry. We all lived on the outskirts of town and the family members that weren’t winged would handle the business in town. Every now and then someone who wasn’t winged would marry in. You’d find a lot of the farm families around Derry had wings.” He glanced at Vic. “Derry has a lot of farm families.”

“When did she cut them off?” He asked, because she must have. She died when Vic was seven and Victor would have definitely remembered her having goddamn  _ wings _ .

“When she was pregnant with you,” Jeremiah told him. “Usually we have a midwife on hand, but her pregnancy was more complicated than usual.” A lump formed abruptly in Vic’s throat. His mom had only been a year or two younger than his dad. She didn’t get her wings cut off right away like Callie apparently had.

“Did she - “ He cleared his throat. “Did she like them?”

“Yeah,” his dad said quietly. “She did.”

“Do you have pictures?” Vic gave up working on the truck and leaned against it to face his dad. Jeremiah wiped his hands off on a rag, passing it to Vic.

“Yeah,” he said. “Up in the attic. I’ll dig them out for you later, alright?” Vic nodded and Jeremiah headed out of the garage and back to the house. “How about we get some lunch? You didn’t eat breakfast.” Vic wiped his hands, threw the rag on the workbench and followed his dad.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**July 1988**

Nearing the middle of July had found Vic spending more and more time in the woods. His dad had taken a few days off after Vic’s fight ( _ beating) _ with Henry. He hadn’t asked where the bruises had come from, leaving Vic stupidly grateful. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it and Jeremiah, apparently, needed no explanation. He and Vic had instead spent the next few days doing some work around the house that had needed to get done. Jeremiah, on his last day off, had handed Vic a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.

“It’s Callie’s,” he had said. “You don’t have to call her, but if you need someone to talk to you…” He had trailed off awkwardly while Vic mumbled out a ‘thank you’ and stuffed the paper in his pocket.

The paper sat in Vic’s bedside drawer. He hadn’t called the number and he wasn’t sure he would. Vic didn’t really see how talking to Callie would help. As far as he wasn’t concerned it wouldn’t change the fact he had wings he didn’t want and his friends were no longer speaking to him.

If Vic was honest, losing Henry hurt more than the punches had. He and Henry had been best friends since kindergarten after Henry had stepped in when Vic had been getting picked on by some bigger boys. He had charged in with a high pitched battle cry and they had both wound up getting scraped up from getting shoved around but from that moment on they had been nearly inseparable. Belch had joined them in the second grade when Henry overheard some kids in their class making fun of his size. Belch, even then conscious he could hurt someone smaller than him, hadn’t been fighting back and instead had been shuffling miserably in his place up against the school building. Henry hadn’t had any problems with going up to the nearest kid and shoving them, confident Vic would be there back him up.

So Vic wasn’t really interested in calling a cousin he’d barely ever spoken to and who was probably busy with her own life and college, when he would have much rather have heard Belch’s car coming up the driveway. He had sat in his room for three or four days after the fight, just in case Henry and the others did wind up coming, before finally admitting to himself they weren’t and instead took to the woods.

At first, the majority of his time had been spent in his old treehouse, fixing it up from years of disrepair. The rope ladder had had to be redone and that had turned into an all day task. After that, Vic had moved the portable radio out to the treehouse to ward off the silence while he worked.

Once he had taken care of the worst of it, though, the treehouse got pretty boring after that. Vic had stocked it with some books and a few blankets. Some of his old action figures were still in there, looking a little worse for wear after a few years in the elements, and Vic had made a shelf to put them on but he hadn’t gotten desperate enough to consider playing with them.

So he explored the woods like he used to do when he was younger. He had found a lot of the same trails he’d run when he was younger. They were more overgrown and he had to be careful of branches getting caught in his feathers.

After he’d visited all of his old haunts, some of which had changed so completely they were almost unrecognizable, Vic began exploring further. He knew enough about finding his way in the woods he was confident he wouldn’t get lost and if he did, his dad knew Vic was running around in them during the day. He would coming looking for him if he didn’t come home.

Vic knew if he went far enough, he would go around town and could come out into the dump and he could get to the Barrens through there. If he headed east around town, he would reach it more quickly than if he headed west. So Vic headed west.

As he walked, Vic thought about the cop shows on TV showing search and rescue parties in the woods. According to the cops, the most valuable people in those types of situations were the locals who knew the land and could help stop the volunteer searchers from getting lost too. Vic thought it would be pretty neat to be able to help state police or feds look for a lost person or a escaped convict. It’d be pretty cool to be a fed, too. He’d get to carry a gun and a badge. His partner would be smoking.

A  _ snap _ jerked Vic out of his thoughts and he paused, looking around. He knew as well as anyone that Maine had bears and bobcats but he didn’t think he would have to worry about encountering any this close to the town. After a few minutes, Vic decided it was just a branch breaking off somewhere and continued walking, trying to decide he’d prefer working for the FBI or state police. The idea of knowing an area and it’s people so well he could solve any weird crimes appealed to him, but Vic also liked the idea of getting to travel all over the country and trying to catch psychos.

Another branch cracked and Vic jerked around, trying to find the source. He couldn’t see anyone apart from himself and the woods were quiet. He kept moving, picking up his pace a little. He could hear his own breathing as it turned slightly ragged and nothing else, why couldn’t he hear anything else, there should have been insects buzzing or birds or something and he should turn around -

_ Crack! _ It came from behind him and Vic abandoned any thoughts of trying to head back to his house and took off. Branches scraped over his bare chest and arms. Vic flattened his wings against his back so they didn’t get caught in anything. He glanced over his shoulder to see if he could see anything. He looked back in front of him, caught a brief glimpse of wide eyes in a pale face before he bowled the stranger over.

The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs and shouts. Vic landed flat on his back, shouting in pain, his face smushed into a skinny pale chest, his head knocking against the ground painfully and the weight of someone laying on top of him. The sounds of the forest rushed back in abruptly, as though someone had flipped a switch. There was a mosquito whining in his ear and in the distance he could hear a bird.

“ _ Oh my god, oh my god, oooohhhhh my god, omigod, omigod -” _ The person shoved off of him quickly. “Are you okay, what did you break -  _ Vic? What the hell are - _ ” Vic pushed himself over to lie on his back, gritting his teeth. The shrill voice abruptly cut out and Vic’s eyes snapped open. His wings. Someone had seen. He pushed himself to feet and he could hear the other person scrambling away. He twisted around and came face to face with Eddie Kaspbrak.

“The fuck?” He spat. “What are you doing out here, you little freak?” His wings were fluttering nervously, trying to straighten themselves out.

“You have wings,” Eddie said instead of answering. “Oh my god you have wings. I thought I was the only one. When did yours come in? Are there others? What are you doing out here?” The questions came in a rapid, high-pitched flurry that made Vic’s head ache.

“Shut up,” he snapped. Eddie fell silent, eyes wide and Vic finally realized he was shirtless too. He looked ridiculous, wearing his stupid tiny shorts and a fanny pack around his waist. He was sweaty, with dirt smeared down his torso and Vic imagined he looked similar. Satisfied that the smaller boy wouldn’t be moving for the moment, Vic craned his neck to look over his shoulder to examine his wings. They were definitely ruffled and a few were bent out of place, rubbing uncomfortably, but they didn’t seem to be hurt from Vic’s less than graceful landing on top of them.

Once he reassured himself of that, Vic turned his attention back to Eddie, who was carefully positioned across the small clearing, watching him warily. Vic could see something shivering behind him. He took a step forward and Eddie jumped back a foot and a half, poised to run. Vic could probably catch him. Eddie could move fast, but he had asthma and Vic was willing to be Eddie didn’t know the woods as well as he did and the direction Eddie was positioned to run would take him straight into Vic’s neck of the woods. But Vic was not in the mood to chase anyone, so he stayed put and stopped advancing on Eddie.

“Turn around,” he said. Eddie shook his head quickly. Vic pinched his nose and took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice from sounding too annoyed. “You said you thought you were the only one. I just wanna see.” Eddie’s eyes darted to Vic’s face, then away. Vic waited with a patience he wasn’t aware he possessed until Eddie complied and slowly turned to present his back to Vic.

His wings were smaller than Vic’s but that wasn’t a surprise. Eddie Kaspbrak had always been on the tiny side, even in his own grade. But where Vic’s wings were mostly black, with a splash of white, Eddie’s were a light brown, the tips a darker shade and speckled with with white and black. Vic wanted to touch them but he was certain if he so much as leaned in Eddie’s direction the other boy would be off like a shot and despite the return to normalcy in the woods, Vic didn’t want to be by himself just yet. Eddie’s wings were shivering with nerves and Vic could hear a slight rustling as the feathers brushed over each other. Vic noticed that despite the hot temperature, Eddie was shivering as well, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Okay,” Vic said after a moment. Eddie slowly turned back around, avoiding Vic’s gaze. “Thanks.” Eddie nodded, opened his mouth and closed it again, face scrunched and visibly working up the courage to ask something.

“Can I see yours?” He finally blurted and Vic turned obligingly. He heard Eddie take a few hesitant steps closer before silence reigned again.

“Thanks,” Eddie finally muttered and when Vic turned around, Eddie was already shuffling back a few steps again. An awkward silence descended over the two and Vic shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So…” Vic said, trying to break the tension. “Your wings keeping you out of town too?” Eddie darted a quick glance at him, nodded and fixed his gaze back on the oak tree he’d been staring at like it contained the secrets of the universe. He opened his mouth to say something else when Eddie spoke first. 

“I gotta go,” he said quickly but he didn’t make a move to leave. He rocked anxiously on his feet and Vic realized he was standing between Eddie and route he most likely needed to take and Eddie wasn’t quite brave enough to pass him.

“Right,” he said, trying not to feel disappointed. He wasn’t surprised Eddie didn’t want to be near him. Nearly every memory Vic has involving Eddie, he was either chasing him or pushing him or generally making the boy’s life miserable.

Eddie watched him for one more long moment before edging around him carefully. Vic made sure to move and give Eddie space, watching him go. A moment later, the younger boy disappeared in the underbrush and Vic was alone in the woods again. Vic stood there a moment longer, before feeling a prickle on the back of his neck and turned quickly to head back home.

**August 1988**

Vic wasn’t sure whether or not he  _ liked _ Eddie Kaspbrak, but the younger boy was stuck in the exact same shitty situation as him, with little wings sticking out of his back and a newfound habit of running around in the woods with his shirt off because it was uncomfortable to have the fabric resting over them. But ever since his fight with Henry, Vic hasn’t seen any of the others in several weeks and Eddie apparently didn’t spend any more time with his own group of friends.

So Vic may not like Eddie, but he was lonely and he can tell Eddie was too - so by mutual unspoken agreement they continued to meet up in the woods surrounding Derry because the Bowers gang hung around town or Henry’s place and the Losers Club hung out in the Barrens. Neither boy could go into town anymore and going to the Barrens posed too much of a risk of running into the Losers.

Vic didn’t know whether it’s hilarious or pathetic that they’ve actually started calling themselves the Losers. He thought a little pathetic but when Eddie mentioned his friends and made it sound so comfortable and natural that Vic thought maybe it wasn’t as pathetic as it sounded.

He’d been surprised when he’d run into Eddie again a few days later after their first encounter. He could tell Eddie was too, but after a few minutes of stilted conversation, they had started walking in the same direction. The feeling of being watched from that first day hadn’t happened again and it was already fading from Vic’s mind. Eddie hadn’t asked why he was out there by himself and Vic hadn’t either. He suspected their reasons were pretty similar.

“How’d your parents react when you told them?” Vic asked one day. They were sitting up in his old treehouse, Eddie seated a careful distance away from Vic on the cleanest looking blanket. When they had first climbed up his eyes had swept over the books and blankets and lingered on the action figures but he didn’t comment. He didn’t quite trust Vic, not yet, but loneliness made for strange bedfellows and despite his asthma, Eddie was  _ fast _ and he was smaller which meant he could squeeze into places Vic couldn’t. It made him feel secure enough to follow Vic up the rope ladder, muttering about the number of fall-related accidents per year under his breath. Vic had thought that was kind of weird but ignored it. They both had wings sprouting out of their backs. Weird had gone out the window a long time ago. Plus Eddie was always rattling off statistics about injuries and diseases. Vic thought sounded half of them sounded fake, but whatever.

“I - uh - I actually haven’t told my mom,” Eddie muttered, fiddling with his inhaler. Vic turned to stare at him.

“ _ What? _ ” He demanded loudly, quieting his voice when Eddie jumped. “Why not?” He couldn’t imagine not telling his father. The other guys teased him about it sometimes, but Vic didn’t care. Henry’s dad was a piece of shit, Belch’s dad had died before Belch could even know him and Patrick’s was too unnerved by Patrick to actually try and parent him. Vic would take his relationship with his dad over theirs any day.

A dull flush was creeping up Eddie’s neck to his face and his shoulders were hunching up around his ears. He muttered something indistinguishable under his breath and Vic reached over and flicked his ear. Eddie jumped and shot Vic a nasty scowl before flinching and looking away hastily, like he was worried Vic would punch him for the look. Vic felt his stomach clench uncomfortably when he realized that before this whole mess had started he probably would’ve.

“Couldn’t hear you, loser,” Vic said, trying to distract Eddie. “Talk louder.”

“Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the hospital!” Eddie almost shouted. Vic blinked. That seemed like a bit of an overreaction but he didn’t know Eddie’s mom. Maybe it wasn’t. If Vic didn’t personally know Mr. Bowers, he’d have said Henry was exaggerating when he talked about how awful he was.

“What about your dad? He’d be able to calm her down, right?” His dad had always stopped his mom from worrying too much when she was alive.

“He’s dead,” Eddie muttered, staring hard at his stupid fanny pack and track shorts. “He died when I was about three. He had lung problems, I think. Mom doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Oh.” Vic blinked. “Sorry.” He was quiet for a moment before offering, “My mom died when I was little. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said and Vic was surprised when it sounded like he actually meant it. The two boys were quiet for a few minutes before something occurred to Vic.

“So has  _ anyone _ talked to you about this?” He asked, twisting to face Eddie. “And what are you doing? Just avoiding your mom and hoping she doesn’t notice them?” Eddie stared at him, disbelief written all over his face.

“Who exactly am I going to talk to? What am I supposed to  _ do? _ ” He demanded, voice shrill, tone derisive. “My mom takes me to the emergency room  _ at least _ twice a month for stupid stuff so there’s no telling what she’ll do once she figures out I have wings growing out my back and Bill’s my best friend but I doubt he knows a whole lot about this!”

“Your best friend, huh?” Vic snapped, who had been feeling frustrated for weeks with no outlet and didn’t like being yelled by this little wheezing  _ shrimp _ of a kid. “Is that why you haven’t told him yet? I can  _ really _ tell you and Stuttering Bill are good friends!” Eddie’s face flushed in anger at the nickname but Vic didn’t care. He expected Eddie to back down like he usually did when Vic and the others were going at him, but apparently either Eddie was braver when it was one-on-one or he was feeling just as frustrated as Vic. Either way a sneer found it’s way to his face and he didn’t hesitate to get back in Vic’s face.

“Yeah? Where’s Bowers, huh? I thought you two were joined at the hip!” Eddie shouted, fists clenched. “What, did he find out you’re a freak and dump you out on the side of the road?” And Vic punched him because that was pretty close to what had actually happened, even if Henry had it wrong.

Eddie shouted as he went down and Vic followed, intending to land another punch, preferably on his nose. Eddie recovered quicker than he expected, though, and Vic received a kick to his stomach for his trouble, the air leaving him in a rush as he clutched his stomach. Eddie didn’t wait for him to get his breath back and in a move that would impress Vic later for its ruthlessness, snatched up one of the stray boards still laying around from when Vic had made repairs and nailed Vic across the face with it before scrambling towards the opening.

Vic lunged and got a hand wrapped around his ankle, sending Eddie crashing to the floor. He moved quickly, sitting on Eddie’s back and smashing his face into the planks. Eddie shouted, flailing under him, but Vic still had the advantage of being heavier and he took advantage of that, applying more weight to the younger boy’s back.

“Take it back,” he snarled.

“No,” Eddie growled, bucking up in an attempt to dislodge Vic. “You first.” They stayed there for a few more minutes, neither of them willing to give in until Vic settled himself more heavily on Eddie’s back, taking care to avoid his wings, and Eddie finally wheezed out, “ _ Okay, okay, I take it back.” _

Vic got off him instantly.

“Good,” he snapped. Eddie pushed himself up, eyes squeezed shut, pulling in air in deep slow breathes, his hands clenching and unclenching. Vic snatched the inhaler up from the corner where it had rolled during their tussle. He scooted next to Eddie and pressed the inhaler into his hand. Eddie gripped it tightly, still working on controlling his breathing.

“Here,” Vic muttered. He watched him in case Eddie’s breathing got worse but after a few minutes, Eddie’s breathing settled into a natural rhythm and the grip on his inhaler loosened.

Eddie tucked it into his fanny pack.“Thanks,” he muttered back. Neither of them looked at each other. Vic pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them loosely.

“So, uh, my dad apparently used to have wings,” Vic began carefully, not looking at Eddie.

“Yeah?” Eddie said and his voice was still slightly sharp and high and anxious. Vic tensed, expecting another verbal shot and just as ready to punch him again if Eddie did make a crack. When he didn’t say anything else Vic relaxed slightly.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You can come back to my place and we can get some ice and Dad has the day off. He can talk to you about it.” He could feel a trickle of warmth working it’s way down his cheek. He scrubbed at his cheek and wasn’t surprised to see red smeared over his hand.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie nodded. 

Vic could see an angry red mark on Eddie’s cheek, that he knew from experience it would turn into a hell of a bruise later. 

“You should probably get that cleaned out. If it gets infected you could get sepsis and over thirty percent of people who get it die and mosquitos transmit malaria, so the woods aren’t a good place for you to be with an open wound -”

“What the hell, dude, it’s just a cut,” Vic said, staring at him. There was another flush creeping up Eddie’s neck but he glared stubbornly back at Vic.

“An  _ open _ cut that could get  _ infected _ ,” he insisted.

“You’re such a freak,” Vic muttered, swinging himself down onto the ladder. He decided not to point out the shallow scrapes on Eddie’s chest in case Eddie started freaking out again.

“Look who’s talking,” Eddie shot back. Vic felt his lips twitch.

Vic led the way back to the house and headed to the garage, where he could hear the table saw running. The closer they got the garage the more Eddie started to lag behind. When Vic glanced over his shoulder at him, Eddie’s gaze was darting around, checking for ambushes. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead gestured for Eddie to wait while he went into the garage. He had the feeling he’d have to drag Eddie in, but he could admit with how isolated the house was and with the saw running he didn’t necessarily blame him for being unnerved. If it hadn’t been his house, Vic might have been a little wary about going in, too.

Vic hovered just inside garage, deciding to wait until his dad stepped away from the table saw before trying to get his attention.  He didn’t need to wait long. Jeremiah finished cutting the board, shut down the saw and as the blade was slowing, saw his son. He put the boards down on the worktable behind him before turning to Vic, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“Um, hey, so, uh, Eddie Kaspbrak is here,” Vic said.

“Frank’s boy?” Jeremiah asked, surprised. Vic shrugged. He didn’t know what Eddie’s dad’s name was. “I take he saw your - uh -” Jeremiah gestured meaningfully.

“He has them,” Vic blurted and Jeremiah’s eyebrows climbed higher. “He has them, too, and he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about them and he’s worried about his mom freaking out -”

“Hang on,” Jeremiah cut across him. “His mom doesn’t know? What’s he doing? Avoiding her and hoping she doesn’t notice?” 

Vic shrugged.“That’s what I asked,” he said. “But then we, uh -”

“Got in a fight, from the looks of your face,” Jeremiah said dryly. “How is it you’re not on speaking terms with Henry and you still come home covered in bruises?” Vic shrugged. “Boy must be tougher than he looks to have given you that.”

“Could you talk to him?” Vic asked hurriedly, wanting to change the subject. “And maybe find the first-aid kit? He keeps freaking out about germs and stuff.” 

Jeremiah sighed. “Kid, if I haven’t taught you where the first-aid kit is stashed by now then I’ve failed as a parent,” he told him. “C’mon, let’s get you two cleaned up.”

Eddie was standing back a good twenty feet from the garage when they finally emerged and Jeremiah cut a knowing look at his son that Vic ignored. Jeremiah rolled his eyes and strode over to Eddie.

“Hello, Eddie. I’m Jeremiah Criss, Vic’s father,” Jeremiah said, holding his hand out. Eddie eyed it distrustfully for a moment, before uncrossing one of his arms and hesitantly taking Jeremiah’s hand. He reclaimed his hand swiftly, tucking it back under his arm. Jeremiah didn’t even blink. “Why don’t you and Vic come inside and we’ll get you boys cleaned up and we can talk about your wings.” His voice was calm and confident and Vic could see Eddie loosening up. Jeremiah clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and steered him towards the house. Eddie darted a quick look over his shoulder at Vic. Vic grinned and flipped him off. Eddie scowled and turned back around.

In the kitchen, Jeremiah tossed a bag of peas at Vic and handed an ice pack to Eddie before pulling the first aid kit out from under the kitchen sink. Vic got them both towels and watched, amused, as Eddie neatly wrapped the ice pack in it before carefully holding it over his cheek. Jeremiah laid the first aid kit on the table.

“I trust you both know how to use it,” he said. “Eddie, you want anything to drink? Soda?” Eddie opened his mouth, snapped it shut and shook his head. Vic would have bet his left arm Eddie was choking down numbers about cavities or something.

“Okay.” Jeremiah raised his brows and Eddie flushed, turning hurriedly to the first-aid kit instead. Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow at Vic, who shrugged, and sat down across from the two boys.

“Eddie, Vic told me you don’t really know much about what’s going on right now,” he said. Eddie shrugged, carefully applying disinfectant to the scratches on his chest and not meeting Jeremiah’s gaze. “Have you talked to your mom yet?”

At the question, Eddie jumped and the bottle slipped from his fingers. He scrambled for it, disappearing under the table. He was down there for so long Vic thought he’d decided to take up permanent residence under the Criss’s kitchen table. Jeremiah, who had had years to get used to the antics of Henry and Belch and Patrick, waited patiently.

Finally, Eddie emerged, red-faced and clutching the disinfectant tightly.

“Um, no,” he muttered. “I haven’t talked to her. I was worried about...well, about her...she’s not always -”

“About her reaction?” Jeremiah finished for him and Eddie nodded, looking simultaneously relieved he didn’t have to say and nervous about the direction the conversation was headed. “Eddie, you’re going to need to tell her at some point.”

“I know that!” Eddie’s voice came out slightly shrill. “I just - she worries. About my health and she’s gonna freak out if she sees me like this -” He gestured at his face. “ - so I mean, now isn’t the best time.” The  _ or ever _ was left unsaid, but Vic heard it loud and clear. Eddie stood up quickly. “In fact, I should probably get going.” He put the disinfectant back down on the table. Vic stood up too.

“Hang on,” Vic objected. “I thought -”

“Really, Vic,” Eddie said. “I gotta go. No offense, but my first-aid kit is a little better stocked and I want to make sure these don’t get infected.” He looked at Jeremiah. “Thanks for the help, Mr. Criss.” Before either of them could say anything further, Eddie zipped around them and was out the door.

“Huh,” Jeremiah said. “Kid’s fast.”

\---

“Okay, fucking seriously, when was the last time anyone saw Eddie?!” Richie demanded, throwing a bag of snacks down next to Bill and Stan. They were down in the Barrens. Stan had his bird book out and Bill was trying to entice him away from bird watching with the latest  _ X-Men _ comic. It didn’t appear to be working, but Richie gave him points for trying. Bill rolled over onto his stomach to peer up at Richie.

“I t-talked to him l-last night,” he answered. “He suh-said he wasn’t feeling g-g-great.” Richie frowned. On the one hand, that sounded plausible. On the other hand…

“It’s been over a month, Big Bill,” he said. “If he was that sick, his mom would’ve hauled him to the hospital ages ago.”

“He’s got a point,” Stan piped up, from where he was writing something carefully in his book. Richie peered over his shoulder to see what it was and Stan shoved him away. Richie fell down beside him, knocking against Stan’s shoulder. Stan growled slightly as the pen sent a streak of ink across the line but forcefully ignored Richie. “He wouldn’t have been talking on the phone with you.” Bill frowned thoughtfully down at his comic.

“Yeah, Mrs. K wouldn’t even let Eddie  _ near _ a phone in case you could give him gangrene or mono or something through the receiver.” Richie resumed peering over Stan’s shoulder and this time the other boy let him.

“You can’t get guh-guh-gangrene from a-another person, dumbass,” Bill said, momentarily distracted. “We l-learned that in health class.”

“You mean you actually  _ listened _ in that class, Bill?” Richie demanded. “God, no wonder you haven’t gotten laid.” Bill shrugged contentedly, choosing to go through the snacks Richie had brought instead of answering.

“If you’d listened maybe you wouldn’t be a disease ridden trash heap,” Stan said idly. Richie shot up right from his position of leaning on Stan’s shoulder.

“Yowza! Stan the Man gets off a good one!” He yelled, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ladies and gents, you too can receive the patented Stan Burn for the low, low price of -”

“Shut up, Richie.” Stan whacked him the face with his book, though not as hard as he could have. Stan turned back to Bill. “Did Eddie say anything else?” Bill shrugged.

“Just t-that he’d see us when he w-was f-feeling better.”

“Right-o, gents, I think that settles it! Tonight, we go over the Kaspbrak residence and break Eddie Spaghetti out of his prison!” Richie paused for a moment and looked around expectantly, his expression deflating slightly. “That is way more entertaining when Eddie is here to yell about it.” Stan snorted.

“I don’t think we need to break him out,” he said. “But we could at least go over and see if his mom will let us see him for a few minutes.” Richie muttered something under his breath that didn’t sound particularly flattering to Mrs. Kaspbrak but Bill and Stan ignored him as they began gathering up their things. The ride over to Kaspbrak house was short and Stan and Richie stood behind Bill as he knocked on the front door. Mrs. Kaspbrak didn’t like Richie on principle and Stan was struck with the unfortunate affliction called ‘being Jewish’ so it was agreed to let Bill do the talking. Plus, Mrs. Kaspbrak liked Bill.

“H-hi, Mrs. K,” Bill said, when the door finally opened. “Is E-Eddie here?” Mrs. Kaspbrak.

“No,” she said. “He said he was going out with you boys.” Her gaze lingered disapprovingly on Stan and Richie. Stan fidgeted and glanced down at his shoes while Richie looked back, seemingly oblivious to her disapproval.

“O-oh,” Bill said and was about to say something else but Mrs. Kaspbrak cut him off.

“He isn’t with you? You haven’t seen him?” Her voice was pitched higher with worry and Richie wanted to make a crack about where Eddie got it from.

“Nuh-no, Mrs. K-Kaspbrak, we j-j-just -” Bill’s stutter was getting worse in the face of Mrs. Kaspbrak’s oncoming panic. Richie decided to step in.

“Bill, you knucklehead! We were supposed to meet Eds over by the drugstore,” he broke in quickly. “I can’t believe you forgot that!” Bill twisted around to face him, face panicked.

“Right,” Stan said quickly. “That’s what I was trying to tell you but Richie wouldn’t stop talking.” He grabbed Richie and Bill’s wrists and began pulling them back towards their bikes, shooting Mrs. Kaspbrak a winning smile. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Kaspbrak!” The three of them quickly mounted their bikes and pedaled quickly down the street, only stopping when they rounded the corner and were out of sight of Eddie’s house and Mrs. Kaspbrak, still standing in the doorway.

“What the hell?” Richie hissed. “Where the fuck is Eddie?” He was only met with two confused looks in answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie doesn't like germs but he'll hit you in the face with a board. Also, Eds, why you always lying?


End file.
